


Merry & Bright, or, Over & Out

by TrantRazber



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Christmas fic, Christmas oneshot, Gabe and Jack talk their issues out like adults, Gabe thinks he's not a scrooge, M/M, festive fluff with optional angst at the end, holiday fic, jesse mccree wears the heck out of an apron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrantRazber/pseuds/TrantRazber
Summary: In which Gabe realizes that there's more to Christmas than just not being a dick to others, and that desperate times mean they need to cling to ideals of peace and love more than ever. Cute and a little fluffy, with a special guest appearance by home baker Jesse McCree, and with an optional angsty tale of Christmas future to cleanse your palette of the fluff if you're into that (like I am).





	Merry & Bright, or, Over & Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little festive fluff in time for y'all to enjoy, with a little bit of angst served ice cold at the very end in a time skip to lonely!Jack Morrison if you're into that. If not, skip it and keep the fluff! Hope you like it, and look out for updates to my work in progress this winter!

                Gabe was not what anyone could call “a scrooge”. Okay, he participated in the giving of gifts, he nodded grumbling approvals when he was wished a happy holiday – he even broke out the snowman sweater day of (when it was absolutely appropriate). A healthy amount of rum added to any eggnog made the short days and long nights of December about as “festive” as Gabe felt prepared to handle, and he watched himself carefully to hold all of his cynicisms inside of himself for a change.

                And so maybe he didn’t perk up every time Reinhardt wanted to sing another traditional German Christmas song, and so maybe he didn’t crack out the tinsel the moment it struck midnight on December first, but he didn’t – he didn’t _hate_ Christmas and he _wasn’t_ a humbug.

                Besides, if anyone needed further proof, Gabe might even say he _enjoyed_ decorating Overwatch HQ for the holiday season, or at least, he enjoyed watching Jack do it as he was currently doing. Sure, everyone helped out: Winston put the star on the tree which was bright and glowing and looked vaguely molten inside (something Torbjorn had made so that Gabe had absolutely no idea how it worked). Angela and Reinhardt strung lights around the whole base of various colors, and Ana had even crafted scented tinsel grenades that filled the air with sparkling pine-scented mist wherever they were shattered.

In the days and weeks to come they would sample traditional holiday fare from around the world, and share stories and traditions of various winter-time celebrations: Yule, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa – some he knew and others entirely new to him. But somehow Jack & Gabe always acted as unofficial directors of the whole thing.

                Maybe it was their respective positions as Commander of Blackwatch and Strike Commander of Overwatch, a history of deference throughout the base that encouraged the rest of the teams to remain in the habit even for unofficial holiday business. The landscape of war had such deep-sinking roots, after all. A war commander could be a holiday cheer commander in a pinch, especially when that war commander was Indiana-born Jack Morrison with the blonde hair and a sparkle in his blue eyes that said Christmas magic was mandatory.

                “Hey, can you hand me the tape?”

                Jack’s voice broke Gabe from his yuletide contemplations and he looked up to see Jack on the floor, one hand holding wrapping paper in a very specific and neat position on a box he was wrapping, the other grasping at a roll of tape just out of the super soldier’s reach.

                A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Gabe’s mouth and he stood from where he’d been sitting at a table tucked into the corner of the room, looming over the hot chocolate Ana had brought him which had since gone cold.

                “Sure thing, _capitán_.”

                Walking over to the gift-wrapping area which Jack had set up on the floor, Gabe used his foot to casually push the roll of tape closer to Jack’s outstretched hand without any real sense of urgency. Jack grunted in frustration as a response, finally snatching it once he could and tearing a piece with the roll in his mouth before carefully applying the clear tape to the section he had been so faithfully holding in place up until now.

                “Thank you _so much_ for your help, Reyes.”

                “ _No problemo._ ”

                If Gabe didn’t know better, he’d say Jack’s cheeks were pink – but that was probably from the eggnog and the embarrassment that he, the Strike Commander, would have needed to ask for help with anything, ever, from anyone. Gabe took the opportunity of a rare moment alone to press a kiss to the top of Jack’s head.

                “We still need to finish the tree,” Jack said, his shoulders settling a little under Gabe’s kiss. “Hang the garlands, and there’s still a few table runners in storage I’d like to put out before it gets any closer.”

                That was how Jack referred to Christmas around Gabe: ‘it’. He knew full well how the Blackwatch Commander felt about Christmas, which was to say that Jack knew Gabe didn’t feel anything at all about it, if he could help it.

                “Mmm,” Gabe mumbled, turning to look at the half-dressed tree. “Looks pretty good to me,” he declared, having given it a full two seconds of his attention for this assessment. Jack said nothing, just finished the fold on his wrap job and put it aside.

                The common room was slowly coming together, mostly thanks to Jack and the rest of them, with a variety of sparkling decorations in gold, silver, red, green, blue, white – every color for every holiday they could possibly want to be celebrating this time of year. Crudely cut paper snowflakes hung in chains above the windows, the joint effort of Jesse McCree and little Fareeha’s efforts (Jesse was a good babysitter as it turned out, which surprised everyone except Gabe). Even Genji had cut a series of impressive figures out of ice and arranged them in the front yard so that there was an entire family of penguins wearing scarves and beanies out front.

                “You could help a little more, you know,” Jack said in a tone dangerously close to his Strike Commander voice.

                “I _am_ helping,” Gabe explained, reaching for a bow to peel the adhesive off of so he could pop it onto the gift Jack had just finished. “See? I’m helping. This is helping.” He smirked a little, but Jack hadn’t looked up from where he was sitting even once.

                “Sure. Thanks.”

                Gabe felt his stomach drop into his knees. That wasn’t Strike Commander voice, that was a hurt Jack voice – which was a hundred times worse, at least.

                Jack stood and immediately began working on putting up the last of the decorations, which meant going to fetch a chair to stand on so he could hang the rest of the tinsel around the room.

                “Hey, can I get that for you?” Gabe asked as Jack approached the chair. He beat Jack to it and pushed it towards him, ever so helpfully.

                “Thanks.” Jack dragged it the rest of the way over to the window and climbed aboard to get to work, prompting Gabe to hand him one of the silver and red garlands of tinsel he was going to hang. Still Jack did not look at him, just took it as it was offered and continued his work – focused, or something that looked like it, anyway.

                Gabe wasn’t one to walk away from a problem, but he didn’t know how to solve this one. Jack was upset for some reason, that much was clear, but it wasn’t over an omnic war he couldn’t do anything to solve and it wasn’t from the crippling fear that they may be ripped from one another at any moment and therefore it wasn’t anything Gabe knew how to soothe so he just stood there, chewing the inside of his cheek for too long until Jack finally capitulated with a sigh.

                “You realize I’ve done most of the decorating by myself, Gabe.”

                “…yeah, I thought you liked decorating.”

                If looks could kill (and sometimes Jack’s did, when his visor was down anyway), Gabe would’ve been toast there and then.

                “I _do_ like decorating,” Jack agreed, offering nothing more to remedy the churned up knot in Gabe’s stomach.

                “And I’m not being an asshole,” Gabe pointed out, tugging at the bottom of his sweater as if that counted for something. It wasn’t the snowman sweater, but it _was_ a sweater, and it was red, even!

                Jack, who had turned his attention back to the garlands, stepped down from the chair and Gabe suddenly saw a look of exhaustion in his face which hadn’t been there before.

                “So? You want a cookie for not being a dick about Christmas?” Jack crossed his arms over his chest, the holiday pattern of _his_ sweater now covered from them both.

                “No, but I- you know how I feel about Christmas.”

                “No, I don’t. Tell me. Tell me how you feel, _please_.” It would have sounded sarcastic coming from anyone else, but Jack spoke in a low voice that expressed his genuine concern even if it still came from behind a tight jaw and periodically clenched teeth.

                It was Gabe’s turn to sigh now, but he caught it as it came out and swallowed it, always self-policing as he was – scared to sound too dramatic or too emotional or maybe just too real.

                “You know,” Gabe insisted, throwing his hands up for a second and looking at anything that wasn’t Jack. But anything that wasn’t Jack sure looked holly jolly compared to himself, Gabe found. “It’s bullshit. All the nicey-nice, pray for peace shtick, love and togetherness shit.” It sounded like a weak argument even as it left his mouth, but it was true, it was how he felt, so he looked at Jack expectantly.

                “You’re right,” Jack offered, to Gabe’s surprise, and then: “I do know how you feel about Christmas. And do you know how _I_ feel about Christmas, Gabe? About all of this?” Jack gestured vaguely to the ever-increasing scenery of themed sparkling décor around them.

                “Figured you liked it, since you’re always the first to start organizing it all.” _Unless he’s just doing it because someone has to, and I’d just drag my ass and nothing would get done if he left it up to me_ , Gabe considered. He added, “If you didn’t want to do it, you could just say so. We can split the pain equal, you know.”

                Jack pressed his lips into a thin line of frustrated thought and then, after a moment, a tiny laugh forced its way through and then another one followed and another one after that.

                “You’re such an asshole, you know that?”

                “I thought we just established how I _wasn’t_ being as much of an asshole as usual.”

                “It literally never even occurred to you that maybe I just – _like_ Christmas?” Jack reached out so that both of his hands were on each of Gabe’s shoulders. “All that shit that’s bullshit to you, that _means_ something to me, Gabriel.”

                His fingers were tight on Gabe’s shoulders and everything felt still while Jack kept going: “Family, being together when it’s darker and colder than any part of the year, giving each other gifts just to make one another happy, that’s not bullshit. Not to me, and not to the team. I _need you_ on this, Reyes. You’re more family to me than anyone else here, asshole. Don’t make me say it again.”

                It was true – Gabe really hadn’t ever conceptualized that Christmas could mean anything genuine to anyone other than an actual literal child, which he knew Jack was not and yet all at once it seemed to make perfect sense: of _course_ the little farm boy caught in a global firefight would still cling to the ideals that Christmas and other winter holidays peddled this time of year. Of course it meant something to him; just because Gabriel had never allowed himself to believe there was a point didn’t mean Jack had to be the same.

                Jack just wanted an excuse to feel like being together was enough, and Gabe had done nothing but act as a weight for Jack to drag around. It was true that Gabe wasn’t actively sabotaging the holiday, but he wasn’t exactly helping either and by just sitting in a corner and acting complicit he was more or less lumping all expectation of making the season merry and bright onto Jack – the very same merry brightness which he would then carefully abstain from in the name of self-righteous cynicism.

                God, he was _such an ass_.

                “ _Dios,_ I am such an ass.”

                Gabe looked up from where his gaze had fallen to the floor, still encased as he was in Jack’s arms on either shoulder. Jack’s face still looked tired but marginally more hopeful.

                “Yeah you are,” Jack agreed, that little sparkle in his eyes returning in waves and flashes. “You waited until the last possible moment to realize that, too. Woulda been nice for you to figure that out a couple weeks ago, Reyes.”

                “I’m sorry,” Gabe muttered, and he was, even if he didn’t like to shout it from the rooftops.

                “I know,” Jack let one of his hands drop down Gabe’s arm and into his hand and for a moment their fingertips lingered against each other. “It’s okay. You don’t need to be shitting holiday cheer, or anything. But a little participation would help. Tree’s still half-done.”

                Gabe closed his hand around Jack’s and nodded, then let go.

                “Got it, _jefe_. Leave it to me.”

                He moved to immediately make good on his word; Gabe was going to decorate the shit out of this Christmas tree, guaranteed to be the platonic ideal of Christmas trees, when Jack caught him by the arm and laid a kiss on his lips that would make any man feel cheerful. Gabe smiled into the kiss so that he was still smiling when it was over and just in time to be interrupted by a familiar Southern drawl:

                “Commander, I was hopin’ you could give me a hand with these-“

                McCree had busted into the room with two oven mitts, one on each hand, and both of them electric shades of sparkling red and green in a brilliantly ugly plaid pattern. He had a half-apron on as well which, other than being mostly covered in flour, was of a similar colored pattern and complete with white lace edging.

                “Sorry to interrupt there,” Jesse offered with a grin that was anything other than sorry, his hands on his hips and still inside the oven mitts like he _didn’t_ look singularly ridiculous right now. “But I got a whole army of gingerbread super soldiers waitin’ to be decorated.”

                Gabe groaned and Jesse turned his hopeful, expectant gaze to Jack, who in turn simply offered his sweetest smile to the Blackwatch Commander beside him.

                “Hear that, Reyes? _Gingerbread super soldiers!_ ”

                “ _Si, si_ , I heard ‘im,” Gabe mumbled. With the smallest of smiles, he added as he crossed the room: “On my way, _vaquero_ , and you _better_ have enough damn sprinkles for the both of us, ‘cause I’m not sharing.”

 . . .

                It’s cold – the kind of cold that creeps in through the windows of Jack’s little hostel room in King’s Row, the kind of cold that sinks into his bones so even his feet in his socks and his shoes are still cold. So that his nose is pink and the ancient radiator trying desperately to combat it is pinging and groaning with effort. So that he can’t barely hang on to the knife in his hand, cutting bluntly into some newspaper with his back to the window. If he’s careful the newspaper doesn’t tear, just cuts like it’s supposed to, and if he squints when he’s done it kind of looks snowflake-esque. No one uses newspaper for anything other than tinder these days, anyway.

                His back is to the window from where he’s sitting at the little desk in the corner of his room. Everything is cramped and cold and dark and Jack hasn’t expected anything else for a long time now, no matter what the calendar month happens to be. Still, he’s cut out three or four of these little snowflakes, and from under the dull glow of the desk lamp they look maybe a little sweet, as long as Jack doesn’t focus too long on the irony of cutting snowflakes when he’s practically frozen from the cold of the snow currently hurtling down outside his window.

                It’s something to do, anyway. Keeps his hands busy and his mind halfway busy, too. Jack doesn’t know exactly what he would have to do to keep himself from idling in memories and regrets; at this point it’s kind of a running background film loop projected onto his subconscious which he can only tear his eyes away from when it’s time to fight. So it’s not too much of a surprise then, that he most of his life now is spent looking for the next fight.

                He makes another one, not caring that he’s marking up a desk that doesn’t belong to him and that he has no intentions on replacing, and just in time to ignore the first round of young carolers outside his window but by the time he’s got the next one finished they have grown closer and louder so that they’re quite clearly directly under _his_ window in particular and nearly shouting sentiments of peace and good will up at him.

                Frustrated, and more than a little hell bent on creating a little peace of his own, Jack goes down to get rid of them by any means necessary – a phrase he uses inside his own head which most likely translates to tipping them generously and wishing them a grumbled happy holiday.

                The smooth trajectory of billowing black smoke pushes its way under Jack’s closed window, pushes it up just enough so that the smoke can pour into the room and then, after lingering for just a moment, back out once more.

                Jack returns from dispelling the pack of smug carolers to find his room even _colder_ than it was when he’d left it, and of course the first thing he notices is the window that he definitely did not leave open. As it slides shut, super soldier senses pick up on the sound of the teenaged carolers still leaving the scene:

                _“….n’t believe that creep paid us to bother that old man on Christ-“_ The window slams shut with a thud.

                Turning from the window, Jack finds a single figure on the desk beside his newspaper snowflakes: the silhouette of an armed soldier, cut from gingerbread, and decorated garishly with too many sprinkles.


End file.
